Housemaid of Evil
by Andrea Foxx
Summary: It's either get a job or get a husband, and Brigit Andremede is not exactly 'wife' material. In the face of her father's ire, she picks the only logical occupation... a maid for Ganondorf? Now, if only the Great King of Evil can get her to stop smiling...
1. Maiden for Hire

Disclaimer for this entire story: I do not own The Legend Of Zelda. Not in any way, shape, or form.

CHAPTER ONE: MAIDEN FOR HIRE

-

* * *

"Confound it, girl! Quit that gaping, childish grin and go about business like a normal hylian!"

The bellow nearly caused Brigit Andemede to drop her pot. Her content humming squeaked grossly out of tune in surprise. "But father," she began, drying her hands on her apron, "I-"

"You're driving me insane! Is there no job you won't give that empty-headed smile at?" her father, the stonecutter Gastel Andemede, despaired. "It's worse as is, being unable to find you a proper husband. This is the very reason- you have scared them all away!"

Brigit looked to the sun outside, and glanced down to the pans and pots she was putting away before answering the question. "Father, how would a smile scare anybody away? Things that scare are monsters and wicked men, not smiles of all things!"

"Don't argue with me, young woman," her father pressed firmly. "They find you… queer. Uncanny! Any normal woman would not sing songs while shoveling manure. Are you ever somber, or even sober?"

"I've not touched a drop of the drink in my life, Father, and you know that. Would you rather me be somber forever?" Brigit asked. "What fun would that be? As for me, I happen to love the chores and cleaning. They're wonderful times, to know that you are helping others with their lives! Why not be cheerful?"

"Confound it, girl!" Gastel cried in exasperation. "I have made up my mind! As you cannot impress yourself a husband, you must impress somebody else. You are nearly sixteen, Brigit! Sixteen! Only women in employment and royalty are unmarried by sixteen… Get yourself employed, and quickly!"

Brigit's green eyes grew wide in surprise as she put the last cup upon the shelf, but her smile never wavered. I cannot falter now, she told herself. I think this might be a large change in my life!

"Father," she began slowly. "I do all that is needed of me here. I clean, I cook, and I shovel for the cow next door. I wash your clothes, tend the fire, and mind the cat! I love such things; what else is there for me to do?"

By now the short-necked and tall man was definitely not within sane boundaries. "I do not care if you market that smile to men on the street, Brigit!" he cried, taking a pan in hand and casting it at her with an enraged howl. "Be gone by tomorrow! I'll have no more of that smile- it drives me mad!"

And with that, he slammed the door with enough force to wake the cat in the other room, earning a prompt and shrill yowl. The pan clanged weakly by the pantry, a new dent in the handle christened from the careless toss of anger. However, Brigit looked once again to the sunny window and to her work, finishing the last of her task.

That wasn't so bad, she told herself. It didn't hurt as much as she expected. But either way, she was at a loss of what to do. She couldn't stay in Kakariko- not with her father still within the town limits. And there was little else to go, since the new king had risen to power two years ago.

Her mother was alive, then. Her mother would have given advice, the sort of smart advice that mothers often give. Brigit's happiness for once faltered. Since the death of her mother, her father had been falling nearer and nearer to insanity. Her own smile, it was so _close_ to that of her mother's… Brigit could not help but feel that _she_ was the one tormenting the poor man.

So I must go, she concluded. But to where?

Brigit quietly left the kitchen and ascended the stairs up to her bed and drawers. She pulled out a camping pack and a durable burlap shoulder bag and began to pack what things she was sure she would need. In truth, she owned little for herself. Into the pack went clothes and tools for abroad. In the shoulder bag she set the few stories she owned from the booklender and some cloth to wrap food in. Carefully, Brigit removed her apron and hung it beside her bed, dusting off her skirts. Before she slipped on her most comfortable shoes, she took the time to tie up her brown curls in a kerchief to guard against a dusty road.

Arriving in the kitchen again, Brigit spied the peaky-looking, not-yet-grown tomcat she kept, lying somewhat lifelessly in a patch of sunlight from the window.

"Loki," she addressed him, stroking his dull and tattered red fur, "I'm going away. Father doesn't much approve of you… maybe it would be best if you were off too."

The cat, Loki, opened a yellow slit eye and stared at her casually. "Prrow," he said quietly and oozed like rusty syrup into the large, empty space of her shoulder bag. She felt him wriggle around into a comfortable position, peek his head out, and then draw back in to sleep.

"I suppose I am the one who gives you cream sometimes," Brigit mumbled. "Ah, it's for the better… I'll need the company."

She slipped the few rupees of her allowance into her satchel and was off into the street, to buy rations for what she expected might be a long trip.

* * *

The merry crackling of the fire on the hillside was welcome comfort against the darkness of the night. The night had been getting darker, she knew, since the rise of the usurper king. But the fire was said to repel the danger. Impa herself had advised Brigit so, so the girl deemed it safe.

In truth, after Brigit had come to her for advice, Impa had been at a loss. As pleasant as the girl was, Impa wouldn't wish that smile even on her enemies.

"Well, where are we off to, Loki?" Brigit asked her cat, giving the animal the remnants of a meat bun that she had packed. "I left in such a rush I didn't think at all. And Impa said nothing about destinations.

Loki, of course, said nothing.

"I know what father says," Brigit continued. "But really, _I am_ sad. And a little angry. It's just that he doesn't understand, Loki. Being sad makes other people sad. And I don't want to hurt other people…"

Once again, Loki had no comment.

Talking to herself warded off the loneliness, so Brigit continued. "But still… where can we go? Maybe the old ranch on the hill will take us in."

No, she rejected. The old owner drank and slept his lonely days away in the village. Brigit doubted that the new owner was kind at all. She had heard rumors of the man Ingo's cruelty, and that was a place she was to avoid.

"We need money and a place to sleep, Loki. I don't think fire will keep the monsters away forever. But… I've never really seen a monster. I wonder what they're like?"

It was really all about her father, Brigit reflected. He had turned into a monster. Two years ago, her mother had passed away and the man had fallen into a funk the likes of which Brigit has never known. She tried her best to cheer the man, even so far as rescuing Loki from the trash to be a pet, but she had failed. As hard to believe as many would have seen it, Brigit was getting tired and fed-up with it all.

Yes, she forgave her father for being sad. But she did not forgive him so much for throwing a pan at her.

You'll come to a sticky end, young lady, he had said to her many times. You'll be caught and marched straight down to the King of Evil himself, and then what will a confounded smile be worth?

What will a smile be worth…?

After the period of silence, Brigit's mouth did upturn again. "Loki, I've had an idea," she said. "It's a little far-fetched, but it's just what father deserves."

"Prrow," Loki said.

"We're going to find out exactly what this smile is worth."

* * *

Brigit lifted up her skirts a little as she crossed the broken drawbridge under the gray dawn. In truth, she could hardly tell the dawn; the land seemed darker and dreary here. Her shoes splashed a little on the puddles as she stepped within the city limits.

As she took the time to straighten her dusty dress, Brigit looked up to the great shadowy blotch in the sky hanging overhead in the distance. Funny, she thought, when traveling with a purpose the sight didn't seem quite so ominous as she would have imagined. She had never been to the city or the castle; her childhood was spent in Kakariko only. Never before had she seen the boulevards and the square. Her mother had told her it was a fair place, bright and cheery and welcoming to all.

That was before the king came, Brigit knew. She dared not enter the lone shop by the gate, and the cobblestones were overgrown with vines and ugly weeds. The fountain was dry and dead trees twisted from where the must have once been full and beautiful, rustling mournfully in the ashy wind.

Several gangly shapes stood like statues in the square, motionless. Brigit cast a glance around. As easily as the castle loomed in the distance, there were several streets and she didn't quite know her way around.

"Excuse me," she said to one figure. "Could you tell me the way to the castle, please? I wish to speak with the king."

There was little response, besides a slight jerky quiver that resonated through its brown, leathery flesh. Brigit was not quite sure what this thing was, but she was not about to give up.

"Sir?" she coughed, tapping it on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Unnnnnnngggghhh," the thing said, turning a flat, bony face to meet her. It looked horrific, Brigit remarked to herself. But at least she had gotten its attention.

She straightened herself out and gave a little bow. "Oh! Hello, sir! Can you tell me the way to-"

**SHRIEK**

The thing projected a piercing sound that caused Brigit to wince and her smile falter. It was beginning to advance now…

"Well! I never! Haven't you got any manners? Honestly- screaming at somebody you've never met… How rude!"

It was getting closer…

"Good day, sir!" she huffed and continued off on her way. "I'll find it myself!"

She exited the plaza with a whirl of skirts, setting off in the direction of the great castle hanging overhead. Back at the square, the Redead twisted it's head around in mystification, turning to it's fellow crouched on the ground across the way.

_I thought I'd save her the trouble,_ it said. _Better a quick death than anything the Master can come up with. It was a favor, my goodness! What are young people thinking these days?_

_Unappreciative, they are,_ the other one replied. _Downright uncouth. She had better learn to have the sense to accept goodwill at least! What an impolite little girl!_

* * *

"You want to- _what?"_

The booming voice of the big creature (A moblin, she had heard from Impa once) was ugly and gravelly. There was little intelligence in its eyes. Not that she could see the eyes- it was a good five feet taller than she was, so matters of height were a little problematic.

These are monsters, she told herself. But they didn't seem quite so bad. Sure, scary, but if she was able to manage to convince them that she was not edible, how evil could they be?

"Exactly," Brigit replied curtly, eyes edging over to the huge lake of lava that lit the scene red and orange. "I wish to speak to His Majesty. Is there any way to come to the castle? Or must I grow wings and fly?"

The great ugly beast screwed its snout up in confusion. This little pinkling claimed (very firmly, he added) that she was absolutely not tasty at all to eat, and she actually _wanted_ an audience with… Him?

"You crazy?" it (he?) asked, with somewhat broken and deeply nasal words. "Why would you want to see him?"

"I come looking for work, and I have a proposal for him," Brigit said. "Would it be too much to ask to show me the way to him?"

"You do not understand," he said. "It is too dangerous. You say you are no enemy, but you are an intruder. I keep intruders out."

"Do intruders _ask_ to come inside?" Brigit pointed out.

The moblin looked perplexed for a moment. "This is true," he said. "But you are a human-person. The Master has no allies that are human-persons other than the gerudo. You are not gerudo."

"I wish to be an ally," Brigit continued stubbornly. "You won't ever get any new allies if you don't ever let them in."

"This is also true," the moblin nodded, snout wiggling as Brigit guessed his mind worked. "Very true words, pinkling."

"Yes, yes," Brigit said. "Thank you. Will you show me in?"

"But still crazy. Master will burn you right to ash."

"I know," Brigit said. "But I would see him."

Once again the moblin looked mystified. "Crazy little pinkling, you are brave like a warrior. I will show you the way."

"Thank you very much, sir. I won't forget it."

* * *

Compose yourself, Brigit Andremede told herself as the huge door loomed over her. Its presence was impressive, and she could barely restrain shivers. From inside she could hear faint buzz of sound, quivering the black stone of the floor at her feet. Hesitantly, she removed her kerchief, dusted herself off, and tried to make herself appear somewhat presentable. The two huge moblins flanking her paid no mind, however, as the threshold swung open on curiously silent hinges.

It was not silent for long, as upon opening it a blast of music assaulted her ears: ringing and echoing like the roars and snarls of some huge beast. At the far end of the great hall was a massive organ, bellowing a nameless tune that Brigit was sure should _stay_ nameless. The haunting, ominous melody vibrated her very bones, consuming and scalding like being immersed in lava.

She walked as quietly as she could as her two guards led her down a deep scarlet carpet. The music continued as if the player did not notice, completely engrossed in himself and his fell design…

Until she was within ten feet. The organ cut off sharply, mid-measure. Brigit jumped and swallowed her fear. Or, at least did her best.

It was then that the player began to move. He got up from his seat, straightening up taller than any man that Brigit had ever seen before. His deep violet cape scattered itself as he turned around to face her, looking down from up high like the sky would cast lightning upon the fields in the dry season, setting the grass aflame. He was not as massive as the moblins that had led her, but for some reason he bore… an aura… a radiant impression that he truly _was_ far larger, stronger, and crueler.

Brigit all of a sudden felt very small as he observed her with such a burning stare. His eyes were like twin windows to a hellfire, more vibrant than even his bright flame-red hair. He was not handsome, but bore the hints of one who might have been in the past. But the most curious thing marring him was his odd complexion- dark and sickly as if venom flowed through his veins instead of blood.

She stood before the Great King of Evil, Ganondorf Dragmire.

At his glance the two great moblins dropped to their knees in a low bow of complete subservience. As the huge beasts beside her lowered themselves, Brigit's thoughts were suddenly jumbled and completely askew. She barely managed to give an awkward curtsey, due to the fact that his gaze was fixed completely upon her.

"Explain this intrusion," he boomed, though his tone did not sound outwardly angry. In fact… it sounded more amused than irritated. His face screwed up into a poisonous smirk that Brigit had never even thought could exist in all the world for its nastiness.

Then, she remembered herself, and smiled sweetly up at him.

"Good-morning, your Majesty," Brigit began. "It is an honor to make your audience. I have traveled long from the village of Kakariko to do so."

The moblins beside her looked to each other with horrified glances, and then to the girl they had escorted. Good-morning, they thought? Was she insane?

Yet, the King of Evil only seemed to smirk wider. "A maiden of Kakariko," he mused to himself. "An honor indeed. Tell me, what maiden of Kakariko stands before me today, and travels of her own free will to my court?"

"My name is Brigit Andremede," she declared, giving another, more formal curtsey. "I come seeking employment, your Majesty."

The air pressed heavy, the silence in the room deepening. For a moment, it was a standoff. The Great King of Evil's devouring grin ground harshly against Brigit's sincere, kind smile.

And then, all of a sudden, he began to laugh. It was the most sinister, ominous laugh that Brigit had ever stood witness to. She had heard tales of laughter so fell that it turned grown men in blind panic, and of a face that would freeze blood to ice. But though she barely could force herself to admit it, she suddenly felt that someone had stretched the tale along the way, because she felt no desire to faint or flee.

"Little girl," he forced out through maniacal hysterics. "I already have a harem the likes of which you couldn't imagine. I'm afraid I have no use for such a fragile spread of legs."

Brigit blushed deep crimson, but managed to control herself. "Please forgive my vagueness, sir, but that wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Then," he continued, smile growing, "What use would you present for yourself?"

Though she had the uncanny feeling that the man was forcing her into some kind of trap or hole, Brigit continued. "I will gladly perform any chore you give me," she clarified. "I cook, clean, and do any errand within my capability. As I passed, I couldn't help but notice you had little in the ways of house staff… if you wish it, I will take care of all I can."

His brow furrowed at this. Brigit for a moment was startled and afraid that she had earned his ire, but after a heartbeat she recognized that he seemed more bemused than wrathful. Once again the moblins exchanged looks, but said nothing. Stillness reigned over the awkward confrontation. The hour vaguely stood as evening from the sun through the webs of stained glass above, and made the scene only heavier with it's faint glow.

"You truly wish this?" he asked in an unbelieving tone as if he doubted that the_insect_ before him was sane. He had been convinced that this girl was a foolish resistance, becoming a martyr in the eyes of the people for the deed of mocking the king. Now, he felt an odd taste in his mouth. What if… what if she really was what she had said? What if… there was no ulterior motive?

Impossible, he concluded. There was always some hidden scheme. This girl couldn't_really_ have braved his monsters and endured his stare simply to become… a housemaid?

Could she?

"Yes, sir," she said modestly, bowing her head. "I am what you see. Do you accept my proposal?"

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes in distrust. "What would you ask in return?"

"Only a room in which to stay, reasonable pay, and a few days off every now and again, sir. You will have to forgive me- I have never sold my services before, and I have no fixed wage… though I trust you to be a decent man who will not cheat me. After all, you are His Majesty, Lord and Ruler of Hyrule."

Throughout this, her kind smile had not wavered and her tone had never traveled beyond respectful, friendly, and casual. It was unnerving to him, that this_insect_ could ever withstand his presence… but he hid it and passed her off as either naive or simply freakishly cheerful.

Hence, he asked his final question.

"Do you do windows?"

"With the utmost pleasure, sir! Windows are my favorite!"

"You're hired."


	2. Brigit's First Day

CHAPTER TWO: BRIGIT'S FIRST DAY

* * *

The morning could not be called 'bright and early,' for it was no brighter than any other time of day. However, it was much preferable to the pitch-black that surrounded the night. The dark clouds above circled in an endless parade past the window, the faint glow of red fire far below.

Brigit Andremede turned in the bed that she had been given.

The Great King of Evil had become somewhat vexed with the situation. This strange girl, whom he was sure had some other agenda, obviously could not bunk with the rest of his army. So, in defeat, he had consented to her wish for her own room. It was plain, but it had a bed, a basin and a small table. In truth, he was planning to keep her captive here. Surely, he reasoned, that she was to infiltrate his castle and give his inner doings to some other force elsewhere. She was a threat… but as he could not discern her machinations he opted to keep her alive. He would figure it out in time, he reasoned, and would provide any 'days off' with adequate supervision.

Though Brigit was concerned with none of this. Her only occupation was getting a night of sleep sorely needed.

A banging at the door unsettled her, and she fumbled awake. Floundering in her shift, she donned a robe and made to the door. "Yes?" she asked politely as she opened it. "I'll be ready in a minute, if you would wait."

However, the person at the door did not wait: instead, flung the hinges wide open and bellowed in her face, "S'time to get to work, pretty pinkling! And no slacking!"

"Hold on, hold on a moment," Brigit sighed up at the towering Moblin. "Give me a minute to get decent and manage my quarters, and I'll start my duties at once."

"You'd do well to hurry, pinkling," he scolded sharply. "The Master did not hire you to be slug-a-bed!"

"Yes, yes! Now, please, leave me so I can change?"

Grudgingly, he did so. As quickly as she could, Brigit threw on her serviceable dress over her shift and tied a clean white apron over that. With her kerchief, she bound up her brown hair and tied it out of her eyes. She only paused a moment to straighten her linens, though she turned to the small, shabby cat at the foot of the bed.

"Loki, you're free to run about, but do try to keep out of trouble. Perhaps you can take to mousing. I'll feed you a bit later, if you're still hungry."

And with that and a deep breath, she opened the door and marched out, careful to shut it behind her. Though, the sight she met was not exactly what she expected.

True enough, there was another moblin outside waiting for her, but he was decidedly a different individual from the giant that had stooped low to bellow into her room. Distantly, Brigit wondered if he (for he was definitely male, from his bare, furred chest) was younger or simply a dwarf, for he stood only a head and a half above her. Even for his powerful build, he looked about nervously, bright eyes darting around in distrust. Curiously, the two short tusks that poked out from under his snout seemed whiter and cleaner than most, as if he for some reason was inclined to maintain an appearance.

"Excuse me, sir, " Brigit said to the moblin, who was looking carefully after the giant had just disappeared down the corridor. "Would it be possible that I could be shown around a little? I'd really rather not get lost when I wish to find a broom…"

At once the moblin startled slightly, almost dropping his spear. He looked down at her in confusion, shifting his weight on black hooves. "Are you speaking to me?" he asked, in a manner much clearer than the ugly, broken, nasal tone of the others she had met. It occurred to Brigit that the odd stuffy noises of the others sounded awfully like they did not bother to blow their noses (snouts?) and were speaking through layers of filth. However, she could see that it was a great improvement for this odd, small, moblin that he seemed decently clean.

"I don't see anybody else, sir," Brigit asked with a smile. "I was hoping you could give me the lay of this place, or at least a little."

He wrinkled his brow in such a manner that the boar's bristles of his hairy mane flopped awkwardly in his face. "You are the pinkling that the Master has taken in to sweep and clean?"

"That I am," Brigit said.

"Hn. I expected someone a little bigger," the moblin mused. "To stand against the Master and give him a 'good-morning!'"

Brigit shrugged, smiled, and fixed a rumple in her apron. "Well, that's the way of polite society. It would not be proper at all to address someone such as him without wishing him well, would it?"

"I suppose not," he replied. "You do speak the truth. Though, 'polite society,' or whatever you mean… you'll not find it here."

She simply shook her head and turned to the halls to the left. "Well, that's not so much my concern. I'm here only to keep things tidy, and if what you say is true, then I've got a lot of work ahead of me. What's your occupation here?"

"I am assigned as a guard before your room, pinkling," he heaved heavily. "After all, it's all that I can do here, aside from scrub up the floors myself."

"Beg pardon?"

"Never mind, pinkling."

Brigit raised an eyebrow at the last remark, but remained polite and said nothing. After all, she reasoned, there might be some sort of science to surviving here. This monster doesn't seem to have gotten much respect, if he doesn't understand that you should wish someone a 'good morning.'

She only laughed, brushing off the strange company as probably typical of this new occupation. "Well, that much aside, will you show me about? I'd love to get a lay of the place before I put things away all wrong."

"As duty permits, pinkling," he grumbled, and started off down the hall. Brigit had to walk rather quickly to keep up with him- his pace was quite swift and his hooves moved with surprising agility over the black flagstones.

Looking up at the strange, oddly well-spoken monster before her, she asked. "By the way, what is your name?"

At once he halted, looking dumbfounded, yet there was a peculiar look in his eyes. "What is it to you, pinkling?"

"It doesn't seem proper to have you stand vigil over my door if I hardly know about you," Brigit said, watching his snout wiggle in confusion. "Besides, that's the way of the rest of the world. When you meet somebody new, you introduce yourself."

The moblin paused again, bewilderment turning into mystification. "Hm," he pondered, scratching his head with a horn-shod claw. "That seems… to make sense, in a way."

"Well then? What's your name?"

He stooped slightly, so that his large, furred head was level with hers. She froze, hoping she had not said anything rash, but her smile did not leave. That was the key, she convinced herself. She must not appear to be a threat, under any circumstances. This monster was not quite so monstrous, if she smiled…

"Buzak," he said to her, looking her carefully with his piggish, walnut-black eyes. "My name is Buzak, but keep it to yourself."

Brigit nodded, getting the strange impression that names were a rare thing in the black hallways of the castle. "Brigit Andremede," she introduced. "But, I guess you can call me Brigit. It's very nice to meet you, Sir Buzak."

* * *

"Scrub, rub, rub, scrub, how I like to rub and scrub with this brush and this tub... rub scrub..."

The first order of business was quite simple, Brigit figured. The steps to the castle from the courtyard floating with it over the lake of fire were extremely dirty. Anybody stepping over them would be tracking ash into the castle, though it was not wind that dirtied the steps. It was the muddy footprints of countless people who never bothered to change their boots.

"Rub, scrub, rub scrub..."

She wrung out the dust cloth she was wiping the stone dry with, to be pleasantly surprised that underneath the filth there was indeed polished marble, instead of simply more grime. The smell of smoke and sulfur wafted through the air from the lava pit below, but she had little concern. If anything, it heated her wash water and made it quicker to rinse away the dry mud.

To-do, she reminded herself. Get rid of the mud, or ask for a doormat. Air out a few of the lower floors today, and work up through the week. Sweep the halls as you go. Dust when you can. Then there's the laundry... and you might want to befriend the cook, whatever sort of creature or race he, she, or it happens to be...

Oh dear, she sighed. I have a lot to do before I can even come to the task of keeping the place tidy. I have to _make_ it tidy first.

"Scrub, rub, scrub, rub... I shall scrub and rub with this brush and this tub... I do not snub to scrub with this brush and this tub... hey, that's sort of good..."

Heavy footfalls pounded behind her, prompting her to look back. A pair of larger lizard-monsters (Dinalfos, she reminded herself) were approaching, presumably returning from their perimeter patrol.

"Don't even think of using these stairs unless you have wiped your feet," Brigit said flatly, though still cheerful. "I'm just finishing washing them, and if you get muddy prints over it all..."

The two dinalfos looked at her strangely, making hissing sounds. One of them licked it's lips, if it had any.

"Please, gentlemen... or ladies, whichever you are," Brigit sighed. "His Majesty has forbidden any attempts to eat me. I wouldn't be very tasty, either way."

They looked at each other now, completely appalled. Slowly, they stepped onto the brown grass and scuffed the mud off of their claws, and then continued up the stairs, pausing to gaze at her with a bit of distaste.

"Thank you, sirs or madams!"

Her words fell on a deaf lack-of-ears, however. And Brigit concluded something.

Number one on list of things to do. Make sure everybody knows that I'm not to be served inside small sandwiches come teatime.

* * *

The cook was somewhat apprehensive of Brigit when they first met. To be more precise, it hinged more along the lines of deep disbelief. Thankfully, Brigit marveled, the cook was humanoid, an old Gerudo woman, and had some idea of cleanliness. Her name was Maikura, and was currently between disbelief and amazement of Brigit's nerve in facing down her King.

Maikura was aghast that a mere Hylian, barely of age, with no warrior training whatsoever, could show such bravery. Or such madness. Either way, it was a weary existence in the castle, often alone amid an army of creatures. The king did not leave his 'court of ladies' in the castle, so she rarely found humanoid company. Her assistants were lizalfos, which were well known to have extreme difficulty speaking intelligent language, if they had the vocal facilities at all. She had her suspicions of the young Hylian girl (after all, Hylians were cowardly, false, and not to be trusted) but she did appreciate the suggestions on seasoning the daily soup.

Brigit was enchanted. For all of Maikura's gruffness (understandable, she reflected; she doesn't trust me yet, nor should she) she seemed genuinely thankful for Brigit's assistance and an interesting character. Her strength, despite her gender, was amazing for Brigit, and made her think very hard about her father's demands for her marriage because of 'female station.'

"You're a strange one, Andremede," the young Gerudo woman said, chopping vegetables with practiced precision. "What possessed you to come to this place?"

"You say that like this isn't a good place to be," Brigit replied, stirring the soup absently, eying how much salt to put in.

"It isn't. I am here because I must serve my king. Why are you here?"

"The same as you, it looks like. To serve my king."

The answer earned a raised eyebrow and a curious tone. "He is no king of yours, child. He rules over your lands, but that does not make him your king."

"That may be true," Brigit replied, accepting the vegetables from the older woman. "But does it really matter? I couldn't stay at home, and I couldn't work at the horse ranch, and I couldn't live like an animal, and I definitely couldn't work for the ghost collector in the bailey. I refuse to lower myself to selling services of love, I have no talent managing trade, and I have no skill with blades besides perhaps wielding a kitchen knife against vegtables. I didn't have a lot to work with, so I did what I had to so I could get by."

The concept was familiar to Maikura. The desert had little to offer, and her people scraped out a living by what small graces and talents they had. If they had to harness their skills in combat and turn it to raiding, then it was done. It was not so much a moral choice to do evil as a survival choice. Perhaps this Brigit Andremede had a similar dilemma, though her solution was to become a maid rather than a bandit.

"What hell did you escape," the old woman marveled bitterly, "to drive you here of all places?"

"Well, it wasn't hell. I was quite happy," explained Brigit with a hint of longing, "I lived with my father, a stonecutter. Being a woman, I could not learn the trade, so I busied myself with keeping the house clean and cheerful and performing similar services for others..."

Maikura frowned. "What do you mean, 'being a woman?'"

"Women are expected to marry. Only the upper class waits for coming-of-age, usually. I would be married by thirteen, or be a spinster. There are a few women who are unmarried, but they keep cuccos or weave cloth or have some trade to live off of. I have none aside from cooking and cleaning, sadly, so I could not remain in Kakariko."

"That's absurd," spat Maikura, preparing yet another cucco for the spit, "how can they be so wasteful? Think of the women who would have become builders or warriors or great pathfinders, sitting at home!"

"I don't see what is wrong with cleaning and minding the house."

"There is nothing wrong with such things. They are very important for maintaining order," Maikura assured, rage tinging her tone, "but you Hylians are blinded by your abundance of men! You are spoiled rotten, letting men do all the tasks and wasting yourselves on the house alone. I imagine the lot of you can barely read!"

Brigit at once frowned, smile lost. Maikura noted how different the face looked without the seemingly omnipresent cheerfulness. Immediately the young woman appeared more stubborn and determined, less childlike.

"I can read very well, thank you," Brigit said curtly. "Despite my father's protests."

The sound of the bubbling soup was the only sound for some minutes. Then the old Gerudo spoke once more, carefully.

"You are either brave beyond reason or a fool among fools to speak to my King so boldly."

"It wasn't so bad," Brigit said modestly. "He was quite scary, but I think he's also smart and reasonable. The pay is very good and I have a comfortable bed. On my first leave, I think I will buy some more books to read in the evenings."

"You really were serious about reading, then? It isn't true that all Hylian women are uneducated in both lore and war?"

"I don't know about war, but skills with words really are uncommon in the lower classes for both men and women. I'm lucky," declared Brigit, thinking about her father's ideas of womens' stations. "My mother used to handle all of father's book-keeping. I know reading and writing and arithmetic from her. I'm sure she taught herself, though. She grew up very poorly in Castle Town."

Maikura understood, but said little of her own reflections as a clatter of pans sounded from the pantry, accompanied by a few angry, throaty trills. "Tch!" the Gerudo woman sighed. "My hands are covered in cucco blood! You handle them, girl!"

"M... me?"

"I don't see anybody else!"

With resignation, Brigit gritted her teeth and put aside her ladle, making to the pantry. The sight of three lizalfos scuffling in a scaly pile on the floor met her: an ugly tangle of snouts and tails and limbs. They cared not about the short swords strapped to their sides. They were a mess of long bodies and claws and teeth, shrieking madly.

"All right," Brigit said firmly. "Enough. Cut it out. Let's all get back to work."

This did nothing. Brigit sighted in exasperation and was forced to pull the child-sized lizards away from one another.

"Honestly..." she gritted as the found that two of them were clearly ganging up on the one on the ground. "If this happens again, I may need to mention it to His Majesty the next time I see him."

Reluctantly, the two assaulting creatures hissed and withdrew, scrambling to their places at the thought of facing their king. The one on the floor did not rise, but did let out a few painful-sounding squeaks as it quivered on the ground, hide scuffed and arm raked by claws to the point of drawn blood.

"Goodness, you're hurt," Brigit sighed quietly at the wounded lizalfos on the ground. "Can you stand, sir?"

It felt a little strange to be calling the beast that was only chest-high to her a 'sir,' but she deemed it proper. He was male, that she could tell from his white belly (females had duller, brown coloring on their stomachs) and he was merely an acquaintance. Slowly, his claws scratched the tiled floor and with a swish of his tail, he was up again, albeit unsteady.

Brigit was slowly getting the suspicion that there was no such thing as a 'monster' among the beasts that wielded weapons and wore armor at the castle. 'Monster' implied that all 'monsters' were the same. There were no individuals.

This was untrue, Brigit concluded. She had seen many different individuals even in one day.

Moblins varied in height and weight as any race did (although the range seemed incredibly broad: some were even eighteen feet tall!) and they also had distinctive faces. Some were light-colored. Some were spotted. Some were black-furred. Some were even fair-skinned with a pinkish hue. Other details were harder to tell due to their state of obscuring uncleanliness, but Brigit could tell that even hair differed: ranging from hard, stiff bristles to Buzak's finer, droopy mane.

Lizalfos and dinalfos, too, had defining features. The colors of their scales varied in drastically different shades of green, from pale herb colors to almost-black. There were many patterns of markings, and physical build differed much the same as it differed among hylians in Kakariko. Dinalfos often had horns and spikes sprouting from their heads and limbs, while most lizalfos were usually smoother and less aggressive. Many lizalfos had bumpy knobs here and there, however, and sometimes even bristly quill-sheaths or patches of birdlike down.

Once again, this wounded lizalfos was an individual to Brigit and markedly so. He lacked the pot-belly many of his fellows toted around, and looked leaner than the rest and by respect, a bit smaller. His hide was light- a sort of dulled jade, and his eyes were bright and keen. The most defining feature, however, was that he possessed a crest of rusty-red feathers on his head, by some freak anomaly. Brigit had seen feathers on lizalfos before, but it seemed a rarer trait than dull knobs of bone or spots of dappled color.

"Are you all right, sir?" Brigit asked, once more just for clarity.

The lizalfos swished his tail weakly, but nodded once. He then lifted a sinuous arm and visibly winced at the bright red blood from the scratchy clawmarks.

"You want me to bind that?"

The lizalfos nodded.

Brigit took a clean dishcloth from the pantry shelf and tied it over the shallow rake wound, pulling it tight to stop the blood. The lizalfos made no sound at all as she finished up, only looking at her blankly with his coal-black eyes. "All better. Can you work?"

He nodded again.

"Good. We'd best get back."

He complied without another pause, darting back into the kitchen and taking up his station kneading the seemingly-endless loaves of dough. Brigit looked after him and began to stir the soup with a bit of melancholy that belied her small smile.

"You did well," Maikura said in her weathered, work-worn voice. "That one always gets picked on by the others. Usually I need to beat a few heads in to keep them apart."

"Why?" Brigit asked quietly. "But why is that one picked on?"

"The runts always get trampled by the strongest. That's the way of the world. It hardly faces them. Feh, if it had a bit more conviction it wouldn't be so skinny..."

"I don't agree," Brigit said quietly. "I think he is stronger than the rest."

"Oh? By what reason, child?"

"His hide is a patchwork of scars, but he scarcely takes heed of it. He must go hungry many times a week, yet he does not collapse. Every day... he must just put up a lizard-smile at it all," Brigit said. "I think he is strong, to endure such torture... and continue to stand to knead his daily bread."

Maikura raised a ruddy-gray eyebrow and shrugged, shredding a chicken with a practiced touch. "A smile from the scalies? Who can tell?" she said bitterly. "Child, let me tell you something. Yes, it is strong to endure. My people have endured hardships that would make your blood thin to hear the tales. But that strength is not what matters in this world. It is not the strength of the defender that prevails throughout this land."

"Then what does?"

"It is the strength of the conqueror, the strength of the despot, the strength of the king that will always prevail. If there is a defense, it shall be broken. If there is a will, it shall wither. All that stands tall and endures... will eventually find it's better. And it will be undone. There is nothing that irresistible power cannot bend or destroy, little point-ear. Take care to remember that."

Brigit smiled.

"It's true that strong winds may uproot even the most ancient and greatest trees, ma'am," she said. "But the reed that has lived naught but ten days may bend and wave with the wind, unharmed... and sing it's tune while it does so."

* * *

Brigit could not see the moon rise or the stars shine from the hallway arrow-slits that lined the countless corridors of the floating castle. Eternally, everything was either the dull, red glow of heat from the bottom levels or the black, cold peace that graced the parapets and towers, daunted only by perpetually-crackling torches in their iron brackets. But she could tell that it was her hour to sleep from the quieting that swept the castle halls. The night-shift guard took it's places as everything went dead silent in the upper halls of the castle. Moblins and other creatures slept in the warm bottom levels where they did not make use of their guardrooms here and there.

No one dared ascend to the very highest level of the castle's keep. There, the King of Evil slept and was not to be disturbed.

Soft taps shimmered over the smooth black flagstones as Brigit made her way to her quarters, tired from her first day of duty. It had been exhausting, and she hardly completed half as much as she had set out to do; the tasks before her were so monstrous. She half entertained the idea of requesting assistants, but she dismissed it quickly. First she would have to prove herself. Later there would be time for trivialities.

Tap, tap, tap...

tap, tap, tap...

Clickclickclick.

Brigit froze, the odd scramble before her jarring her mind from sleepy thoughts. She lifted her chin, turning her attention from the gray veins in the stone floor...

A smallish shape held a torch at the end of the hall, beckoning to her. Brigit paused only for a moment before stepping forward as she had been earlier. Closer, she could make out the shape of a small monster, that she could tell from the tail, but obscured by the glare of the torch in the relatively unlit hallway.

It waved at her with not only it's clawed hands, but with it's whole body. It was more urgent now, and she could see the frantic glitter in it's husk-burnt eyes. The message, though slightly obscured by the bright flare of the fire, was clear.

Move quickly. It is important.

Brigit did, and no sooner did the thunder of plodding hooves alert her that she was being followed. Fear blossomed in her heart as she turned the corner at a run, once, twice, three times... following the bobbing torch always just out of reach and distinct sight...

It vanished as she reached the most obscure hallway, reducing to a flicker and winking out in the dark. Before her stood her own door of plain wood, shining like an oasis in the dark. Just as she slipped inside, door propped, did the giant Moblins march past her door, search the hallway and emit their squealing curses. They thundered away, obviously displeased.

"MMmmroww!"

Through the crack of the door, Loki streaked inside, bounding like a madbeast onto her bed, curling up in a shaken ball. Quickly, Brigit locked the door and lit the candle by her side table, carefully taking the small cat into her arms with a bit of dread.

Bits and patches of fur were missing from the creature, and there were small scratches all over him as if he had lost several fights with larger beasts. His yellow eyes were wide and scared, and he clung to her skirts with his claws as if the essence of evil itself was about to show it's horrid face.

"Faore's breath," she breathed, brushing the dirt from his fur with her kerchief. "Loki, you're a mess. What could have happened to you?"

"M... mrow..."

"You're full of bites and scratches. You didn't try to fight a Kesse, did you?" she sighed, looking out the window to the blackened sky outside. "Oh, Loki! I've told you time and time again to use your sense like a thinking being instead of just running around and getting eaten by monsters! If you ever grow a mind that could thrive and conquer this place, do so now!"

Brigit put her cat down on the bed with little trouble- the small animal had become complacent to the point of immobility due to fear- and changed into her shift. She thought to read, but in the end, did not find she could stomach it at the time being. The danger of the day, the horror of what might have almost befell her cat, and the stress of her situation was pressing harder than she had felt it before.

"Loki, please listen to me," she said quietly.

"Prrow roow."

"I fear that I have made a dreadful mistake in coming here. There's... nothing here. The monsters are terrible and cruel, and the ones that aren't are too afraid of His Majesty to pass any time with me or tell me anything. Even Lady Maikura is jaded and barren of hope or joy. I... I'm lonely, Loki."

"Mrrow."

"I think I always have been, Loki. It's just so much more obvious now that there's nobody in this castle but me and the monsters and His Majesty and Maikura. I... really need somebody to talk to. A good friend. One who would stand with me, defend me in the face of these horrors. One with a sharp wit and a good heart."

"Prrrr."

"Loki, if I could have one companion, I wouldn't care for appearances," she said, eyes drifting off into desperate fantasy. "The only thing that would matter would be his mind and his words... for there are no free minds or fair words in this place! He would be kind, but fierce, and steadfast. His voice would be pleasant, for it's the largest comfort I miss here! Oh, Loki! I miss words unstained by the terrible curse that is laid here!"

It was then that she finally broke her wistful smile and began to cry softly. They were not loud, sorrowful tears. They regretted nothing except her own judgment.

Brigit turned a wide-eyed Loki to face her, expression begging, almost pleading.

"Dear Loki, if you ever come across anyone like this, please send him to me. But if you can not... I... I ask you to take that mantle up yourself. You... you are the only thing in my power here."

Then she realized how absurd it was to command her pet cat to speak to her, so she snuffed the candle and retired to bed.


	3. Brigit's First Holiday

CHAPTER THREE: BRIGIT'S FIRST HOLIDAY

The most awkward two weeks of Brigit's life flashed past after the first night was over and conquered. She was simply too busy to notice the perpetual danger she was in.

Never mind the fact that in the hallways every day she passed Iron Knuckles and Stalfos and other nasty things that she had been told time and time again were the bane of all civilized folk. She had halls to sweep and floors to mop. She had walls to wash and windows to shine. Every night when she collapsed onto her bed, she fell asleep instantly.

But the pay was well worth it, she noted. His Majesty paid her very well. Almost absurdly well. Far more than any ordinary housemaid should ever earn. But then again, she was no ordinary maidservant.

It almost chilled her heart that her high wages were peril compensation.

Almost.

"Today is the day, Loki," she said to her beloved cat as she slipped on her cleanest, nicest dress. She did not put an apron over it. Instead, she tied her kerchief once again against the dusty road.

"Prrr," replied Loki.

"Today is my first day of leave!" she said happily, patting her purse that was now full of shining rupees. "What shall I buy in the village today, Loki?"

Loki looked up at her intently, golden eyes wide and hopeful. "Mrow."

"Books, then," she said. "And perhaps a new dress or shoes if I can wrangle it… and soap! Soap for me, instead of the coarse things for the laundry!"

In truth, Brigit Andremede shuddered at the prospect of asking the laundresses for washing-soap again. Female moblins were no better than their male counterparts.

Once again, she gathered her shoulderbag and packed what little she could need for the road. Inside went her bottle of water and her personal notes about what she could purchase to make the spartan room more livable.

"I'm leaving, Loki. Behave and remember your guile when dealing with the castle vermin!"

"Prrow."

Loki jumped off of the bed, rubbing against her legs. Brigit almost tripped, but she sighed.

"Loki, I know I can shut the door. You know how to let yourself out!" she protested, distantly wondering how the cat managed the feat day after day. But Loki persisted, purring loudly like a grain grinder full of rocks.

"Fine! Fine! You can come! But behave yourself!

And with that, Brigit stooped and with a single hand, picked the cat up and held him at face-level.

"You've been eating," she said.

"Gmmrow."

And it was true. The cat felt heavier than before, though he did not look fat in the least. Distantly, Brigit was reminded of the rare wolfos patrolling the middle halls. The weight was not carried in fat so much as in muscle, which indicated that Loki had indeed been hunting, and had indeed been successful.

Brigit shook her head. She had stumbled across the remains of various large vermin, such as giant rats and keese, but she highly doubted it was Loki that had consumed those kills. Her suspicions hinged a bit more to the side of cannibalism.

Loki scrambled to the bag, jumping from Brigit's hand with what might have been enthusiasm if the animal had not been a cat. Brigit gave the room one last look as she shut the door behind her. The castle seemed strangely empty as she made her way down to the stables, as if all the residents had suddenly gone into hiding. Though this did not unnerve Brigit at all, she did wonder what event was calling everybody away from their posts... or what was causing the entire complex to hide behind closed doors.

The stables themselves were tiny things, just beyond the lever-lifts that were raised to bypass the deadly lava lake below the floating castle. There were only five horses there, though they were never abused or ill-cared for. Nevertheless, Brigit had politely requested a mount to travel to town on. It would make such things faster and would permit her to carry a bit more.

"Easy, girl."

Brigit tried to be soothing as she approached the already-tacked mare tied up in preparation for her. Distantly, she wondered who had prepared the horse. It was a handsome specimen, with a coat as black as black: identical to all four of the other horses in the stables. Quietly, she tied her bag to the rings on the saddle and undid the slip-knot tethering the beast to the stable door.

"Miss Andremede. A moment, if you please."

Brigit's blood froze as she registered _that_ voice on her ears. She took a deep breath to calm herself and while turning around, giving the most polite curtsey she could manage with a horse's reins in hand.

"Good-morning, Your Majesty. How may I be of service?"

Her smile seemed not to even phase the King of Evil's serious stare. Then, after another moment's standoff, he smiled as well: the beast's smirk that made Brigit's skin crawl.

"Child, you have no services to perform today," he said, honey in his tone. "It is your holiday. Is it too much for me to see you off?"

His voice was appalling, Brigit noted. How could this man make himself sound so… benevolent? If she didn't know better, she would have passed him off for a concerned uncle. But even she knew the virtues of vigilance. Thus her smile stayed.

"Not at all, your Majesty. I am honored to be in your presence, as always."

She curtseyed again, pleading for Faore above to grant her courage. His Majesty simply shrugged and regarded her again. "Miss Andremede, when do you expect to be back?"

"I will be back by nightfall, sire, unless I become delayed," Brigit replied. "If I am not stopped on the way. It is not far."

"Very good," the giant man said, looking down upon her short form imperiously, though he did not project himself as terrifyingly as previous meetings. "For you shall not be delayed. Hold out your hand."

And Brigit did so, almost afraid of what the man was talking about. Out of his cloak, King Ganondorf pulled a small icon of black iron on a chain and pressed it into Brigit's hand, never breaking his bewitching gaze. Brigit accepted it a bit quicker than she would have liked, but she felt as if she were adequately resisting what unearthly influence this great and terrible man had over her soul.

"This is my mark upon you," he said. "Wear it well. All that lies under my power knows this sigil and will not attack its bearer. Do not remove it. Keep it with you always when abroad, or I cannot guarantee your safety beyond my castle gates."

Brigit nodded, feeling the honey-stare break upon her, an ounce of genuine honesty ringing in her ears. It hardly sounded as if he was honestly concerned for her, but she did feel that he spoke the truth. Quietly, she slipped the chain over her dress, the darkened iron settling at her breast like a sturdy pendant. It felt cold and heavy there, but she knew better than to complain.

Then the King of Evil smiled black sweetness again- that horrible, haunting smile that felt as if it would have foiled an army of women if he were but fifteen years younger and had his health behind him. He straightened up tall and looked down upon the small Hylian in his service, regarding her as an unruly niece.

"Go, be off with you. Be back no later than two hours past sundown, and be mindful of what you speak of."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

And with that, she settled onto the great black horse from a nearby mounting block and was away as fast as her steed could carry her. Crossing the border from the castle to the fields, the pale gloaming brightened and the birds began to sing again, albeit quietly. Brigit quivered in her bowels, cursing the Goddesses for making the Great King of Evil a Great King of Subtlety as well.

But the Rupees jangled in the purse by her side, and that almost reminded her that her high wages were peril compensation.

Almost.

* * *

Kakariko was quite close to the Castle, now that she thought of it. Especially when reached by horse, and even more so when that horse was swift. The mount she had been given (after all, she had been taught to ride in return for mucking stables as a girl) was huge, with long legs and even, steady paces. It flew across the ground at an incredible speed with no sign of fatigue nor sweat, sable coat shining in the mounting dawn light.

I think I shall call her Fleet, she idly mused but pushed away the possibility that she was riding some summoned tireless demon and not truly a horse. Patting her satchel bag, she gazed up at the heavy wooden gates, erected to repel monsters. Monsters she now saw every day, even worked alongside. She touched the cold, heavy iron around her neck, and for a moment, felt unspeakably filthy.

But she washed her hands of it and called up to the doorman at the top of the tower. "Excuse me!" she said, calming her horse. "Open the gates, please!"

The helmeted man only squinted down at her, frowning at her black horse. "Who are you, and what business do you have in Kakariko?"

"My name is Brigit Andremede! Daughter of Gastel Andremede the stonecutter! I'm on leave from my work!"

"What is your work?"

"I am a housemaid, of course!"

The pause was quite awkward; none of them had seen a 'housemaid' who paraded up to the gates on such a magnificent steed yet wore such modest dress. But the request was eventually cleared and she was granted entry to the Village Square, where she handed off her horse to a nearby groom and pressed a customary blue rupee into his hands for the service.

"Where may I find my father, sir?" she asked a guard, one who she had done work for in the past. "Is he in?"

The man only looked sadly at her. "My, Miss Brigit. It's a pleasure to see you again," he said, though his tone was unfitting of his words. "I'm afraid you won't see your dear papa for a while yet."

"Oh? Why?"

Pushing up the cloth that tied back his hair, the guard just shrugged. "A caravan left Kakariko three days ago, and he left with it. Said he had to find work. May be going to work for some men beyond Death Mountain for a while."

"He's… out of Hyrule?"

"If the caravan's been unmolested. I can only pray he has good luck on the road. It's risky out there these days."

"I do hope so," Brigit mumbled. "Is there any chance I may write him a letter?"

"If you have a quick errand-rider, perhaps."

"Thank you for the help, then. I wish you a good day!"

And she was off in search of a pen and paper and a horse that might keep a pace other than Fleet. Loki poked his head out of the bag, blinking in the sun. As Brigit pushed him back inside, she felt the full pouch of rupees and decided at least a few would be for the swiftest rider in town.

She half-prayed that old Talon would be at least sober enough to accept her terms.

* * *

"Brigit, child. Tell me of this work you do these days," Impa the village guardian asked as the girl in question fastened her purchases to her saddlebags. She was leaving early, barely midmorning… there was nothing in Kakariko. She had few friends, and her father was nowhere to be found. Her letter was written. Her spoils were acquired. There was nothing else to do.

Ganondorf smiled in anticipation as he watched the proceedings from afar. From his eye placed around Brigit's neck, there was nothing that she saw that he did not see, nothing that she heard that he did not overhear. Of course, it only worked when he wished to pay explicit attention to her and never inside the bounds of his own fortress. But that was plenty for his purposes. He saw Impa, leader of the Shiekah, and almost laughed at how perfect it was.

Of _course_ the girl was some sort of agent. She was going to report everything to that woman, and she would use his weaknesses against him. Start a rebellion. Storm the least-protected part of his palace. Of course, it would be futile and the spy would be executed in the end, but what was a girl's life in the grand scheme of power?  
"I work as a maid, Ma'am," Brigit said, putting her act up with what he supposed was Shiekah-trained talent. "I earn an honest living."

The older woman only crossed her arms sternly. "For whom do you work?" she asked, eyes surprised. "Few require such a service outside of the village. Or at least, few that I know of."

"I work for a powerful man," she said neutrally. "He is very careful to stay out of everybody's knowledge, so I know little of him. But I do know my pay is honest and fair for my position."

"It is a rather high wage for a housemaid."

"I am no ordinary servant," Brigit said. "His tasks are many, and I work where few others would dare to go."

Impa nodded curiously. "I am sure you do," she said. "Where does this gentleman live?"

"It is not my place to say."

Ganondorf, behind his iron eye, choked. Why? Why had a _spy_ blatantly refused to disclose information? It was impossible! What was she doing? Why was she acting…?

"Then, his name? Surely you can tell me that?"

"I cannot and I will not."

… _Loyal?_

"Why in the name of the goddesses," Impa frowned, "would you keep his _name_ a secret?"

Brigit's smile did not leave as she stepped upon the mounting-block. "Because he is who shelters me and feeds me, and he would not appreciate it if I talked willy-nilly about his doings."

"Still, young one…"

"I shan't. _You_ of all must understand the pact between a master and his servant, Ma'am. I won't break it. He's hired me fair and square. To act less fair in return wouldn't be proper."

Impa looked extremely hard at Brigit. But then she nodded in resignation, though her eyes stared with distrust at the iron symbol around Brigit's neck. "Go to your master, then. I will not pry into your affairs."

Brigit, with a good-bye and a smile, mounted her magnificent black charger and trotted out of the front gate, light bags full of bath-soap and books for her bare shelf. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, bright and full of promise. From the look on her face, Impa hardly believed that Brigit had survived, but as she became but a speck in the distance it hardly seemed to matter.

Ganondorf forced the vision from his sight.

* * *

Brigit stopped squarely upon the gritty path, furrowing her brow at the blotch before her. A moment ago she had been thinking about her almost-dry canteen and the sun that was not half-past noon in the sky. Yet, as she squinted down from the top of the hillock, her mind now tried to invent possible causes for the strange occurrence she beheld.

There was a figure sitting about the dirt-patch below her, head pointed up as if watching the clouds. The torso (from her distance, she could barely tell male or female) was stiff and rigid, and the thing had no arms that she could see. All in all, it was a funny, cylindrical silhouette that seemed totally unsuited for a living thing.

Curiouser, she learned that the Thing had two white tusks poking out from it's blunted snout as she drew nearer.

"Hello?" she called, trotting Fleet nearer. "Hello! Are you all right there?"

The Thing lowered its head sadly, looking at Brigit as she dismounted. To her horror, The Thing happened to be Buzak, sitting forlorn in the dust. His trouble was quite obvious. Somebody had shoved a barrel on him, pinning his arms to his sides. While he was quite strong (she assumed,) only a Goron could break the metal hoops that wrapped around him.

"Oh dear," Brigit said.

The moblin turned a disgraced eye her way, beetle-black dulled with despair. "You've come to laugh too, pinkling?"

Brigit shook her head, trying to gauge how under the heavens a barrel could be stuffed past a Moblin's shoulders. "No," said Brigit. "Er, that can't be very comfortable."

"It isn't."

Something in his tone made Brigit's heart sink. "Does this… does this happen often?"

"More often than I would like it to."

For once, Brigit gave a frown. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was born small. Nobody else is sorry."

"No, please," Brigit said very quickly, feeling absolutely horrid for the monster's drooping ears and limp tail. "You can't possibly be all right in that thing!"

He gave a soft, wheezing snort and looked at her with more dry humor than Brigit originally credited to a monster. "Pinkling, do you think I'm going to show my face at the castle gate, stuck like _this?"_

"Of course not," Brigit said, horrified. "Here, bend over. Maybe I can yank it free."

Buzak looked at her incredulously. "You would do that?"

"Please, hold still…"

She placed both hands on the mouth of the barrel as he bent over, and braced her feet against the grit.

"One…. Two… three… pull!"

She tugged with all of her might, careful not to pull out any fur by mistake. Yet, the thing didn't budge. "Oof!"

"If you can't, then don't hurt yourself."

Brigit only rolled up her sleeves and rubbed her hands together. "If brute strength won't do it, I'll have to find another way," she said. "Wait a moment, please."

Buzak looked ahead as Brigit darted over to where her horse was grazing nonchalantly, and took a large bottle from the saddlebag.

"What is that?" Buzak asked, looking at the milky-yellow substance within in suspicion.

"It's bathing oil. You're supposed to use it after you wash away the soap," Brigit said. "But it should work well enough for grease."

And she poured a small amount inside in the gaps between Buzak's arms and the wood. Then she rotated the barrel around Buzak's form to make sure the grease was even. All the while, the Moblin sat paralyzed like a grotesque model for an ugly garment.

"Now, I'll try and ease it off while turning it, like a screw," Brigit said. "Maybe that will work."

Brigit wiped her hands free of grease and took the mouth of the barrel again, this time nearly kneeling on the ground for support. "One… Two… Three… twist!"

A minute passed, Brigit groaning under exertion. Slowly, the wood began to slip free of Buzak's furred abdomen, further up his chest. Brigit, spurred by the success, twisted harder despite the protests of her arms.

"I don't think it will move anymore," Buzak said flatly. "It's stuck for good."

"No! No! It just moved! Look, see!" rejoiced Brigit, short of breath. "Hold on, let me try some more… One, two, three!"

With a squelching _pop_, the wooden planks pulled free, sending Brigit reeling backward. Buzak collapsed on the dirt, torso streaked with dust and oil.

"I told you I would do it," Brigit boasted. "Now you can go back to the castle without looking foolish!"

The Moblin looked at her very hard, but the corners of his jowls upturned to reveal a toothy, sardonic grin. "Pinkling, that's not the last of my problems today!"

"Oh?" replied Brigit, hands scuffed and dress gritty. She pocketed the bottle and slowly attempted to stretch out her strained arms before reaching to collect Fleet. "Really?"

Buzak straightened up to his full height. "You're useful, for a human," he said gruffly. "But it's not your business."

"Flattered that you find me useful for things other than eating," said Brigit. "And it _is_ my business. I just pulled you out of a barrel; I'd like to know how you got there in the first place!"

He grimaced in a strange fashion as they stood there in the middle of the field's sun. "Never got a taste for pinkling," he admitted. "Nothing really tasty to me about them. Too squashy, too bland, too scrawny. Lots of others like it, though."

"Stop avoiding the question."

A defeated look fell resoundingly on Buzak. "Mates of mine have got… something… of mine. And they won't give it back."

"You tried?"

Buzak pointed to the barrel with a single horn-shod claw.

"… Oh," squeaked Brigit, sentence falling lamely. "What did they take?"

"A small thing," Buzak elaborated. "A bone-knife. Nothing to you, but it means more to my kind."

A family heirloom… of sorts, Brigit thought. Is it so valuable that he can't go back without it?

"There's no helping it," Brigit concluding. "We'll simply have to get it back if it's that important to you."

Springing to his hooves, the moblin stood menacingly tall, eyes wide in amazement and fear. "You would… help me do this?"

"Sir, they took away your things and then shoved you into a barrel. That's hardly polite. I've got nowhere else to be…"

She gathered Fleet and looked for a nearby rock to help herself on. A small hillock provided the necessary height, and soon she was looking eye to eye with the Moblin rather than up at him.

"Is it far?" she asked. "Can you keep up?"

The moblin snorted.

"A simple task, Pinkling."

* * *

Brigit looked behind her at the nearly solid-thick woods that closed the Forest Meadow from the outside world. It had not been far at all; Buzak knew a short cut that did away with all the nonsense about trying to traverse the Lost Woods. But Fleet had refused to enter the trees.

"You're shivering," Buzak laughed in his rough tone. "Scared?"

"Yes," Brigit admitted. "But… we have to get your thing back."

But the monster only shook his head. "You'd risk becoming a Stalfos, torn apart by wolfos, or being eaten by my kind?"

Brigit fingered the heavy iron sigil. "I don't think I have to worry about that," she said. "I think I may have to worry about finding my way out."

She looked at the maze-like hedges with a bit of unease.

"Me too."

"What? You weren't paying attention to the maze?"

"I thought you were."

Brigit sighed. "Goddesses, preserve me."

"You're better off praying that Blun and Kart don't find you," Buzak advised. "Or me."

The girl paused to carefully look around the corner. Nothing. "Why?"

"Barrel," reminded Buzak. "And… they put me down enough anyway. You won't help."

"Am I embarrassing?"

"Look, pinkling," the moblin said. "Think about it this way. How would it look if a cucco pulled _you_ out of a barrel? You _do_ eat cuccos?"

Brigit blushed fiercely. "…Oh. I see."

"You're a fierce, brave warrior cucco. But still a cucco."

"Ssh!"

Brigit grabbed Buzak's clawed hand and motioned to pull him behind the hedges. He was not moved at all by her small stature, but complied due to that it was a warning. It was no later than they had hidden that a pair of black and yellowish moblins thundered past, spears held in thorny grips. They were at least three heads taller than Buzak, and twice as wide. They were also many, many times more malodorous. Brigit almost gagged, but she held her breath and endured the stench.

Brigit had never seen Buzak so clearly compared to his kin. Brigit had never noticed before, but Buzak was much lighter than the patrolling guards; he lacked the distinctive fat, and the heavy belly. In combination with his short stature, he was truly a dwarf.

Though she wondered why he never seemed to fight back. Although he had not the sheer mass of his fellows, he was much leaner and muscled-looking than the piggish patrol (even if one of them had the jowls of an ugly dog, not a hog). Distantly, Brigit wondered exactly how strong a moblin was— Buzak was able to keep pace with a speedy horse over rough terrain. Possibly his overly-developed musculature was simple compensation for his lack of height.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a stirring in her bag. Loki was awake. Brigit undid the clasp, revealing a cat's head poking out of the front flap. He bounded to the ground, shaking his mussed fur.

"Must you let… your cat out of the bag?"

"Would you like being in a bag?" Brigit countered.

"Hmn. Point taken."

Brigit bent down to her cat. "Loki, you must stay close. We can't be seen."

"Prrow," said Loki.

Buzak raised a furry eyebrow. "You talk to your cat?" he asked, skeptical. "He's not… he's not one of your kind."

"You're not a hylian, either," Brigit said, continuing forward carefully. "I talk to you."

"I can talk back."

"I like to imagine that Loki can, too," replied Brigit curtly. "On the subject of talking, you speak better than most of your kind."

Buzak paused very deliberately, shifting his weight from one hoof to another. And he looked down at her, puzzled. "You notice."

"I do."

"You notice that I do not speak like Blun or Kart."

His eyes seemed bright. Brigit nodded in affirmation.

"Yes."

"I try."

And that was all he said.

* * *

"That seems mean."

Brigit looked up from around the bush, staring at the white object dangling from a hempen cord. The knife had been placed in an extremely insulting spot for Buzak. Namely, in the branches of a tall tree. And although he was over six feet tall, Buzak was short for a moblin.

"It is," said Buzak.

Brigit dusted off her sleeves and tightened her kerchief, pulling the hem of her skirt up immodestly. "You might want to stay here," she suggested. "I'm going to get that knife for you.

Loki mewled softly, draped around Brigit's shoulder like a living fur boa. She set him down, only to see the small animal run directly for the tree instead of the bushes.

"You've got a smart cat," Buzak mused, wiggling his snout. "Or it could just like shining things."

"Ssh!"

Brigit tugged Buzak's arm, signaling to move back into the bushes; he was too massive to simply pull back into the cover. The moblin ducked into the shadow of an enormous elm. "What is it?"

"It's Blun or Kart," she whispered. "The yellow one with the little black nose."

"Kart," said Buzak. "Dogfaces are forest dwellers. My kind are just stationed here."

"Ssh!"

The huge, yellow and tan moblin passed them by, idling in the clearing. He did not notice them, but paused lamely, scratched his behind, and sat down by the tree, clutching his spear. A slimy rope of drool dribbled from his boxy mouth, and he did not look like he was going to move anytime soon.

In fact, it almost looked like he expected Buzak to show up and beg for his whatever-it-was back. It _was_ getting late in the day, Brigit rationalized, and to them Buzak would _have_ to return to them sooner or later.

As it happened, sooner. "What are we going to do?" whispered Brigit, gritting her teeth. "And what about Loki?"

The cat was still scratching his way up the tree, unnoticed. Bearing in mind the unpickiness of Moblin eating habits, Brigit had no desire to explore what would happen to her poor pet if he was caught.

"Hang the cat," Buzak cursed. "He'll see us eventually. I can't guarantee your safety, Pinkling, and…"

"Hear us is more likely! Shush!" hissed Brigit, fingering the iron sigil. "Don't worry about me. Either way, you need that thing-a-majig back, and we need it in time to get back to the castle, so what are we going to do?"

Buzak paused, black eyes falling to the leaf litter. He ran a clawed hand through his thick mane and contorted his bushy eyebrows as if deep in thought. And soon he spoke again, businesslike and resolute.

"One of us will have to distract him while the other retrieves it," he said. "Better he see only one of us than both of us. I have a higher chance of surviving an encounter…"

"I'll do it," said Brigit. "I'm in no danger from him."

"Are you a fool? He's twice again your size, pinkling!"

Brigit frowned at him meaningfully and dusted off her skirts. "Please trust me, Buzak," she said. "You circle around here while I keep him busy. Snag your treasure with a stick, and make a run for it. I'll retrieve Loki, and we'll be off again."

The moblin flinched slightly at the mention of his name, but he slowly nodded. "If you really believe you can do it, small one, then power to you," he said. "Go."

Carefully, Brigit stepped out of the brush. She was mindful not to reveal the presence of Buzak, but really that was not so much on her mind as the sheer size and noxious odor of Kart the moblin. By comparison, Buzak smelled like rosewater and spice.

"Good afternoon!" she said with a grin. "And how are you today?"

Kart startled to attention and immediately retook his full height—all nine feet of it. Brigit could only see the bottom of his slimy muzzle. "Who?"

"Oh, I'm nobody," Brigit said steadily. Buzak was sneaking around with a branch, she could see that. "I was just wondering if you could help me, sir."

"No help for pinklings," he said, snorting through filth. "No trespassers, either."

"I'm not trespassing," Brigit insisted. "I'm lost. Here, here's a map."

She unfurled the little parchment roadmap she carried. "Where am I right now, sir?"

The moblin stared at her, at the black iron symbol she wore, and then at the map. "Here," he said, pointing to the big blurry area marked off as dangerous. In the background, Buzak had begun to lift the object from its catch.

"I see," Brigit said, voice wavering a bit. She smiled harder. "And how would be the quickest way to get to the Zora spring from here?"

Kart scratched his head, squinting down at the paper. He stooped a bit, but the blast of foul breath almost made Brigit retch. "Have to go around," he said. "Unless you swim through fishhole."

"What's a fishhole?"

Buzak struggled to free the tightly snagged hemp, but he was making progress. Brigit managed to steal a look in his direction while Kart was off guard, silently pleading 'please hurry up.'

It was odd how a boar's face could make such an expression, but the wrinkled snout and importunate eyes clearly replied 'I'm hurrying, but I need more time!'

"Fishhole here, here, here," Kart said consisely, pointing a grimy claw at several spots in the forest. "Fish swim from Zora lake, but only fish. Too deep for me, too deep for pinklings."

"Then how do I go around?"

Kart stared at her, about to point it out, but he gave an enraged snarl that made Brigit jump back. "Too many questions!" he squealed. "You go!"

"Now, there's no need to get mad..."

He stamped his foot, and the ground shook. "You go!"

And then a complicated series of events happened. The vibration through the ground met the tree. The tree dropped Buzak's knife. It also dropped Loki right onto Kart's face. The moblin howled and the cat yowled and they both flailed, but the cat was the one who connected and scratched at the moblin's face. Kart clawed at the cat, who by then had jumped off just as kart's blind struggle collided headfirst with the tree. Loki jumped back onto Brigit's shoulders, hissing and spitting angrily.

"Run!" screamed Brigit, and she gathered her skirts to take off into the forest just as Kart got up, roaring with violence. She made about two strides before Buzak scooped her up and unceremoniously hefted her over one shoulder like a sack of grain. Loki dug his claws into her dress to hang on.

She would have screamed for him to put her down, but Kart was chasing them so being put down seemed like a very bad idea at the time.

"Ow!" she cried as a branch grazed her flailing legs. "Watch where you're going!"

Buzak puffed, tearing the ground under him. "Is he gaining?"

"No!"

"Good!"

He sprang off a high ravine and landed with a thud, black hooves cutting deep into the moss. They nearly squashed a small russet-haired child in green, wearing a ridiculous pointy cap. The boy almost stretched his freckles his mouth opened so wide to scream.

"Sorry!" Brigit apologized as they continued to flee. "Excuse us!"

And he ran until they finally reached the edge of the woods. It was growing hazy in the early evening, but they had made it. Kart was nowhere to be seen. Presumably, they had lost him a while back. And they had made it in time to get back well before Brigit's curfew.

"Buzak? Would you please put me down now?"

And he did, very carefully. Loki jumped to the ground, and from the ground into her bag while Brigit dusted herself off and picked leaves out of her hair. "Thank you."

"It was no trouble," he said tersely. "You are very light."

She looked around. And sure enough, there was Fleet. As if he had followed them on the edge of the forest. A little creepy, but welcome. She took the reins. "Well, that was exciting," she said.

"You are crazy!" Buzak puffed, catching his breath. "You almost were eaten!"

"But it turned out well in the end." She paused. "Um..."

Buzak lifted her on top of the big horse without asking at all.

"Thank you again."

"You are very light."

And so they all went back to the castle, tired but very grateful to have won their little quest.

* * *

Brigit sat in her chair and looked at her room. It was less bare now, had more books, and she had a supply of soap to use when she next washed up. It almost began to feel like home, she thought. As sort of horrifying as that seemed. In the basement she had seen the awful curses that guarded the entrance to His Majesty's private tower, the vicious traps he had put all over the place to guard it. She lived in the same building as that.

But one would never be able to tell from the contents of her room alone. Loki purred on her lap, sprawled over her skirts. His lap, the cat claimed.

She turned the bone-knife over in her hands. Buzak had told her to keep it, and hide it so if they came after it again they wouldn't be able to find it. He had been worried that they would give him a beating again for seeking her help.

Brigit told him that Kart wouldn't tell anybody, for he had been the one outsmarted by, in his words, 'a pinkling and the runt,' and if he wanted to keep his dignity he'd also keep his slobbery mouth shut. If moblins had much dignity, anyway.

She put it down on the table and wondered which book she would read.

It didn't help that she already had read all of the booklender's books.

Oh well. At least she had had an adventure. Dangerous, yes. Scary? Yes. But she still stood by that it had been interesting. Maybe even fun, in some ways. In between the danger. And she really had made one good friend out of it.

Maybe there was more to this job than just the peril compensation wages.

It was exciting.

Maybe someday she would write about it.


End file.
